


The Care and Handling of Princesses

by winethroughwater



Category: Star Wars Episode VII: The Force Awakens (2015)
Genre: F/F, PWP
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-01-28
Updated: 2016-01-28
Packaged: 2018-05-16 19:14:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,466
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5837671
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/winethroughwater/pseuds/winethroughwater
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Rey accompanies Leia on a diplomatic mission.  Who am I kidding?  This is pwp.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Care and Handling of Princesses

**Author's Note:**

> Loosely based on the tfa_kink prompt "Leia/Rey, sex in public--Maybe Rey distracts Leia during a meeting or galactic conference call."

It starts when Rey pulls the ties out of her hair, loosening first the bottom bun to let the dark strands dance across her shoulders, then the middle, and finally the last until she shakes her head and a wave falls into her face, only to be blown away by a puff of air from her mouth.   

 

Leia looks back at the flickering blue hologram on the console in front of her.  She really doesn’t need Ackbar to stress how important these connections she’s courting during this trip are to the Resistance, but she listens anyways.

 

Or tries to.

 

Rey shrugs out of her gray vest and tosses it to the side, before settling down on the bench across the room. 

 

Leia half watches her, half the weathered Admiral.

 

Rey stretches out her long legs before toeing off her boots.  Fingerless gloves follow the boots; she peels first one long leather glove down her forearm, then the other.

 

She stands and flexes her toes against the cold marble of the floor. 

 

Leia trails her own toes against the floor under her desk, brings her hand to her mouth and briefly bites at her finger. 

 

She shifts the leg she’s drawn up underneath her, listens as Ackbar cites numbers she’d calculated herself weeks ago.

 

She watches Rey’s nimble fingers unbuckle her belt.  She sets the light saber attached to it aside with more care than she had the rest of her things.

 

Rey’s fingers disappear under the hem of her undershirt.

 

Obviously she’d been loosening the drawstring at her waist.   Without her vest, the neck of her undershirt gapes open as she bends to slide her pants down, slowly stepping out of one leg and then the other, before kicking them away.

 

“ _Don’t_ \--worry, old friend,” Leia assures the holo, _warns_ Rey.  “I won’t leave here without the ships we need.”

 

The corner of Rey’s mouth crooks. 

 

Statura’s figure replaces Ackbar’s.  More bleak numbers she already knows.

 

Rey stretches her arms above her head in what could have been an innocent gesture if she hadn’t glanced up at Leia to be sure she was watching—and if the move hadn’t pulled her undershirt up over the top of her hips to reveal that it was currently all she was wearing.

 

“ _Stop_.”

 

“I’m sorry?  General?”

 

Leia stared back into the Garelian admiral’s confused face, shook her head, and covered, “Just stop . . . no need to waste either of our time.  The numbers haven’t gotten any less dire since I left.”

 

Rey’s shirt falls to the floor and she’s unabashedly naked in front of the curved glass wall.  Her hands are spanning her own ribs when Leia glances back at the desk.

 

“Thank you.  I’ll send a report first thing in the morning.”

 

She hits the control to end the call before Statura has a chance to respond.

 

Rey’s hands have made their way to her breasts when she smirks at Leia like she’s won a battle of wills.

 

Leia rises from her chair, walks towards Rey.

 

“By all means, don’t let me stop you,” she says. “But if you’re still intending to be my escort tonight, you really should be getting cleaned up.”

 

Leia leaves a trail of heavy silks in her wake, calls over her shoulder, “We’re in a bit of a rush.”

 

* * *

The near scalding water of the shower comes down in a torrent from the ceiling, like being caught in a downpour.  Leia stands under it and slicks her long hair back from her face, deliberately taking her time and arching her back so her breasts rise with the motion.

 

Rey is stood stock still with her toes barely touching the tiles.  It isn’t a blow to Leia’s ego to know that she’s still as equally in awe of the sight of so much water as she is of her naked body.

 

She knows exactly the effect the two together has on Rey.

 

“You’ve been behaving so badly today,” she scolds, voice dripping with authority.  “Disrupting a general . . . disobeying a _princess_.”  She stresses the last word until it’s almost a purr.  “So many reasons for you to be on your knees right now.”

 

* * *

Rey’s gangly limbs are deceptive.  Just underneath is all sinewy muscle, enough for Leia to trust the girl to hold her up against the slippery tiles when she crooks a knee over Rey’s shoulder and tangles her fingers through her hair.  

 

Rey mumbles, “I’ve got you,” against her inner thigh like she knew what Leia was thinking and it only makes her tilt her hips a bit more, grip at the back of Rey’s head a fraction harder.

 

Leia still marvels at how quickly the girl had learned her body; though, she really shouldn’t, not given the way Rey handles the _Falcon_ like she was born at the controls and a light saber as if it’s an extension of her body.

 

Rey’s teeth tease right over her clit, followed by the warm tip of her tongue. 

 

She raises up on tiptoe to press herself harder against Rey’s mouth and is rewarded by the flat of Rey’s tongue trailing the length of her labia.

 

She moans and Rey is practically devouring her.

 

All the gods of the galaxies bless her talented girl and her oral fixation.

 

* * *

A flicker starts deep inside, like it always does. 

 

It would be so easy to fall into it.

 

It takes every ounce of her finely-honed self-control to push Rey away from her and lower her unsteady foot to the floor.

 

The door to her suite chimes with perfect timing.

 

Rey grunts, pushes her back against the tiles again with such force that it’s tempting, so very tempting—but Leia grabs Rey’s chin before her mouth can venture lower again, until she’s looking up at her and blinking against the shower’s spray. 

 

She uses her thumb to wipe Rey’s lower lip clean.

 

“I wasn’t kidding about being in a hurry.”

 

* * *

Rey is shooed off into one of the adjoining bedrooms when the small fleet of stylists descend. 

 

Perfumed and powdered and painted, fussed over all in the name of beauty—this was the kind of pampering Leia has secretly learned to miss over the years.

 

Her hair is piled into the customary buns—a style that is meant to let no one forget the planet she still represents even though it is just an empty space on the map now.  The number of smaller braids that twist and knot around them is new, and maybe she’s a little glad that generals don’t require quite so much styling on a daily basis.

 

The silk robes, though, that are draped around her, those feel much nicer than the Resistance uniforms. 

 

* * *

 

A green-skinned woman laces a wide belt around her waist to give the flowing fabric shape, complimenting her on how the ensemble lifts her breasts and flairs her hips, how the wine color compliments her fair skin.  She’s fussing with the long cascades of Leia’s sleeves when a voice calls out, “I’m not wearing this!”

 

Leia shares a look with her stylist.

 

“It’s the one we talked about earlier?” she asks.

 

“Yes, your highness.”

 

“Good.”

 

“Leia! I can’t wear this—in public.”

 

“Thank you,” Leia says.  “I think we have it from here.”

 

The staff disappear just as Rey stomps into the room.  She looks directly at Leia and says, “No,” just in case Leia had missed her earlier complaints.

 

“What’s wrong with it?”  

 

Rey looks down at herself, sweeps her hands along her sides distastefully:  “It’s see-through.”

 

The way her brow is furrowed, the stubborn set of her lips—stained crimson for the occasion, leaves Leia laughing as she pulls Rey deeper into the dressing room.

 

“No.  It’s not.”  Leia stands her in front of a wall of mirrors.  “Look,” she insists. 

 

As Rey studies herself in the mirror, Leia notes with pride that the dress looks exactly like she imaged it would on her—rather like Rey’s lanky frame has been encased in the most delicate, black spider’s web, tapering down each slender arm and hugging her skin from her throat to her thighs, until it flared ever so slightly at her knees. 

 

“See,” Leia says as Rey turns to one side and then the other, still appraising herself critically.  “There’s not a single angle that’s actually sheer.  It’s an illusion.”

 

The fabric looks like it would dissolve at a touch; the spaces between the netting match Rey’s skin perfectly.

 

Leia runs her fingers down Rey’s arms.  Rey shivers but the dress stays intact.

 

“You look tall and strong.”  Leia’s eyes fall to the curve of her ass, so elegantly accentuated.  “And soft in just the right places,” she adds.

 

Rey’s brown eyes meet hers in the mirror, growing ever darker.

 

“You’re escorting a princess tonight.  Don’t you want to look _worthy_?”

 

* * *

As they’re in the transport to the banquet, the city spread out beneath them in lights of every color, Rey asks, “Are all princesses such a pain in the ass or are you just special?”

 

Leia narrows her eyes and bites back a laugh. 

 

The protocol droid escorting them ignores the exchange.

 

“I think you’ve been spending time with the wrong sort of people lately.”

 

“Pilots, Jedi, _generals_.”

 

The transport banks for landing and Leia sways on her feet.  Rey’s hands naturally grab her by the hips. 

 

She hasn’t let go, has actually pulled her a little closer, when they settle down to land on a rooftop. 

 

“You have to let go of me some time,” Leia teases.

 

“You don’t really want me to.”

 

Leia pries Rey’s hands from her waist, turns and caresses the side of her face.  

 

“Such a smart girl.”

 

Rey rolls her eyes but follows Leia into the lavish hall just the same.

 

* * *

The flattering fit of Rey’s dress has the desired effect, eyes casting over her figure in appreciation, measuring them together, the princess turned general and the girl from Jakku, and approving.

 

Rey fidgets under the attention until Leia takes her elbow and whispers,  “I remember what it was like to be the one in the room everyone wanted.  Just enjoy it.”

 

Rey smiles down at her in that way she has that’s made her late for more than one meeting back on D’Qar.

 

“You’d genuinely be surprised if I told you how many of them still do, wouldn’t you?” Rey asks.  Her eyes scan the room.  “Most of them because you look amazing tonight.”  She says it like it’s blindingly obvious.  “For some it’s the prestige, the power, you carry with you.  It’s attractive.”

 

Leia feels a hot flush of want and regrets not letting Rey finish in the shower.

 

“One or two of them just really want to fuck Vader’s daughter.  I’d stay away from them if I were you.”

 

* * *

When the food arrives, Rey stares at it with wide-eyed wonder.  She licks her bottom lip unconsciously and Leia can’t help but think back to the first time she had seen that look on Rey’s face.  It’s flattering to know that her breasts elicit the same reaction as seven different kinds of dessert. 

 

Rey has a mouthful of something chocolate before she looks to Leia to see if she’s committed some sort of social faux pas.      

 

Leia shakes her head.

 

“This is all for you.  Since you seemed so hungry earlier.”

 

* * *

Most of the evening is swallowed up with political talk, with massaging egos and walking the fine line between pleading and threatening for support.

 

It’s what she had come for, what she had spent more of her life than she would care to reflect on doing.

 

In the end, she has promises of resources from three separate planets and steals the last bite of cake from Rey’s plate.

 

* * *

She has Rey bent over the desk, the delicately-woven fabric of her dress rucked up to her waist.  She isn’t in the mood for teasing anymore, and judging by how easily her fingers slide inside her, neither is Rey. 

 

She draws her hand back until only her finger tips remain inside, presses them forward again when Rey draws out the two syllables of her name.

 

Her nails bite into Rey’s left hip as she tries to hold her still; her other hand is busy insuring that Rey can’t. 

 

She likes the unmistakably wet sound of sex, of her fingers advancing and retreating and being swallowed up in silken warmth.

 

She says, “This is why I brought you,” punctuates her statement by twisting, thrusting her fingers harder.

 

“I know,” Rey hisses.  “You’d—miss me.”

 

The absolute truth of that statement leaves her driving her fingers into Rey until her wrist aches.

 

* * *

There are little crescents of blood under her nails that form a knot in Leia’s throat.  She wipes her hand on her robes and the stain disappears into the fabric.

 

Rey is still leaned over the desk trying to catch her breath.

 

She’ll cut her nails tomorrow. 

 

Right now, she pats Rey on her bare hip and tells her to get undressed.

 

* * *

The laces pull easily out of the belt at her waist as she sits on the edge of her bed.  Her robes are equally as easy to shrug off.

 

“I was rough with you,” she admits, smoothing her hands up the plane of Rey’s stomach to reach her breasts.

 

“You were.” 

 

“Let me make it better.”  She lays back against the bed, pulling Rey with her.  “Come up here.”

 

Rey straddles her waist and dips her head to her breast.  She pulls a nipple between her lips, lathes her tongue across it and bites down hard enough to make Leia gasp and almost forget her apology.

 

She tugs against Rey’s thighs.

 

“No.  Come. Up. Here.”

 

* * *

Leia barely tastes her before Rey hitches against her face.

 

“I’m going to smother you one day and everyone will hate me,” Rey laughs down at her.

 

“It hasn’t happened yet.”

 

* * *

All it takes is a little nudge with her mind, a carefully timed flick of her tongue and Rey is bucking against her mouth and keening her name. 

 

* * *

She is not smothered, though Rey’s leg is thrown over her chest and very near her throat.  She nips at the top of Rey’s knee because she can.

 

* * *

Rey rolls on top of her and kisses her until she’s doing some very un-princess-like squirming to get Rey’s thigh pressed between her own.  Instead of snaking their way between their bodies, Rey’s fingers span the side of her face; her forehead drops to Leia’s and it’s like suddenly being enveloped in every minute particle that had made up every moment, every possibility, of the day.

 

All the possible Leia’s collide, come together.

 

* * *

Leia finally sucks in a deep breath and says, “Fuck.”

 

“ _General,_ ” Rey mocks.

 

She really has only herself to blame for Rey’s language.

 

 

 

 

 

 


End file.
